


Unwound (1/4)

by icedteainthebag



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unwinding the labyrinth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/profile)[**tjonesy**](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/) bought my services in the [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) auction and requested a story in which Bill and Ellen frakked. This is what happened. Thanks to her for inspiring me to write it and for putting her foot up my ass to finish it. My love and overly affectionate praise go out to [](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/profile)[**somadanne**](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/) and [](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/profile)[**larsfarm77**](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/) for the amazing betas.

**Title:** Unwound (1/4)  
 **Author:** [](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/profile)[**icedteainthebag**](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/)  
 **Word Count:** 3,157  
 **Rating:** MA  
 **Pairings:** Bill Adama/Carolanne Adama, Bill Adama/Ellen Tigh  
 **Summary:** Unwinding the labyrinth.  


Summary courtesy of Laurence Sterne; first line is a quote from Barbey d’Aurevilly.

x x x x

 _Next to the wound, what women make best is the bandage._

“You’re gorgeous,” Bill says into her ear, pulling her tightly against his body.

Carolanne is gorgeous, the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Even back when he first saw her in Caprica City, he was so frakking taken with her. He has no idea to this day why he caught her eye, but she certainly caught his, though he knew all the reasons why he found himself drawn to her. He’s no believer in dumb luck, but he’s always had a special place in his heart for high heels ever since hers had gotten caught in between the slats in the boardwalk along Lake Olympia, causing her to stumble.

He came to her rescue, of course, working her shoe out, saving the heel in the process. Not that she needed to be rescued. He could tell that some part of her found his chivalry wildly amusing, but it’s also what broke down that front she puts up to keep people out. He’s seen it a few times since then.

Tonight, she’s stunning—her white dress smooth under his hands, her hair swept up, her eyes aglow under the strings of lights hung above them. There’s a warm breeze off the lake and he’s buzzed on the Aerelon wine her father had brought in by the freighter load for their wedding.

She pulls away from him and looks at him adoringly. It always makes him smile.

“I love you,” she says; he reads her lips because the music has engulfed the two of them. She puts her hands on his cheeks and says it again.

She may have said it one more time, had he not kissed the words away.

x x x x

“We should have a baby.”

Sometimes he thinks she says these things just to see if he’s paying attention. This morning, he is, as they read _The Caprican_ over breakfast. He echoes her with a chuckle, the syllables feeling foreign to him as they slip past his lips.

“Haven’t you ever wanted kids?”

He can’t believe they’ve never talked about this before. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want one. He wants everything with her; really, he wants to give her everything she wants, and up until this point, they’ve been the same things he’s wanted.

“I think about it a lot.” She taps her toast against her plate, dislodging the crumbs so she doesn’t get them on her blouse. She takes a dainty bite, then points at him with the bitten piece of bread. “You’d make a good father, Bill. It’s one of the reasons I married you.”

“I thought it was my rugged good looks.”

“I said one of the reasons.”

“I don’t know,” he answers. He traces circles in the condensation that’s formed on the outside of his glass of milk. “I don’t know if I would be.”

She lets out a low chuckle. “Course you would.”

“I’m not around enough,” he says. “Kids need both their parents around.”

“That’s not true. Look at your family.”

He’s silent as he looks out the sliding glass panes, the sunrise rippling the water of the koi pond with gold. As far as she knows, she’s right. He knows better.

“You could always be around a bit more,” she suggests, her toe nudging his shin under the table.

He glances at her, then takes a long swig of his milk, watching the sunrise again. “Can’t have it both ways. Never seen anybody juggle a career and kids with much success.”

She takes more interest in her toast, the sound of her crisp bite seeming louder in the silence between them. “I think we can do it, Bill.”

He’s afraid he doesn’t know how to be a good father, but he’s never been one to let his fears deter him from doing what he wants. Sometimes he wants things only because she does.

He knows he has what he considers a family on his ship; he’s memorized every one of their names, some of their birthdays. He cares for them, sometimes too much, though he rarely lets it show. He doesn’t feel like his life is lacking, but then again, Carolanne doesn’t have that. She reminds him often that when he leaves, he leaves her there alone.

“I want you to be happy.” He finishes his milk.

“I am,” she says, her smile hopeful. “But this would make me happier.”

He smiles back. She doesn’t seem to notice that he’s forcing it.

“Plus, we’re gonna have so much fun trying.” Her voice is a shade seductive as she leans over the tabletop. He leans in and kisses her, long and slow.

She could convince him of anything; they both know that.

x x x x

The music is loud and the drinks are flowing. It’s another weekend night at her father’s house, another excuse for a social event of the higher order, and Bill is terminally disinterested in the scene playing out before him.

He’d gone on shore leave just that morning, and he already misses the calming hum of his ship around him. It’s beginning to feel like the only place he can truly be himself.

He smiles when Carolanne leans over and kisses him on the cheek, saying something indiscernible that he nods to in agreement. He drinks his champagne.

He used to just be a shadow among men at his father-in-law’s get-togethers. The obligation to attend was even clearer after they’d married, since it was her father who pulled the strings with the defense subcommittee to get him back into the Fleet in the first place. He couldn’t have his daughter married to a freighter deckhand. As Carolanne often reminded him, love is blind. People aren’t.

At the beginning, it was awkward being asked who he was, with the underlying assumption that he didn’t belong, and that the woman on his arm was his only way into this world of class and rank. As time passed and he worked his own way up the chain of command, they recognized his name as much as they recognized why he belonged there. She tolerated it when his presence was unassuming; she loved it when she didn’t have to introduce him anymore.

People started introducing themselves to him instead.

This was her scene, not one he especially enjoyed. In the limited time he had off rotation, he’d much rather have been doing anything else other than fraternizing within the confines of elite social circles. But there were two things that were the saving grace of these events: for one, the heels and clingy dress she wore as she held a champagne flute in her hand, hanging on his arm and staking her claim to the rising star of the Fleet.

More importantly, what happened after the events was what encouraged him to attend.

They would always screw around when they were being driven home, drunk out of their minds, putting up the privacy window so she could straddle him and moan as his hardness brushed against her thigh. She felt, sounded, and tasted so good as he kissed her and she teased him with her body.

He loved the way she looked at him like she wanted him; she possessed him in these moments and he possessed her, his mouth on her skin and his palms sliding under her dress, the fabric cool and smooth against the backs of his hands.

After this evening’s event, Carolanne seems more adventurous than ever; her eyebrow arches as she slides to her knees in front of him and works him out of his pants. She chuckles at the heavy hardness in her palm as he feels her breath against him, making him groan and shiver. The back of his head hits the headrest the moment her tongue begins to tease his overly sensitive skin.

They rarely make it to the bed after indulgent nights like this. Tonight they land on the couch and it’s mere moments before she squirms out of her panties and he’s inside her. She giggles in his ear and tells him how lucky she is to have him. It only makes him frak her harder, just to prove her point. Her laughter turns into moans that turn him inside out.

He surrenders to her completely. He’d never let his guard down so easily with anyone before her.

“Missed you.” She always tells him that when they’re done, sweaty and stuck together. He presses his flushed cheek against her chest.

“You too.”

x x x x

 _“We’ve been at war for so long that sometimes we forget what we’re fighting for.”_

He’s been away so many times. She’s never seemed to care until now. There’s something different about the way she looks at him when he returns home from his rotation on _Atlantia_. He’s been gone three months; it’s the longest time he’s been away. Then again, she’s married to the military. She should understand this better than anyone. He’s an Executive Officer now, and responsibility and its spoils come at a price that in the past, they’ve been grudgingly willing to pay.

It’s after dinner and they’re sitting on the couch, watching television. He’s exhausted, sleepy from too much celebratory wine that they sipped while the tension mulled between them. He’s awake for her benefit.

“I don’t know if I can take this,” she says, like she’s talking about the show he’s pretending to pay attention to onscreen.

“We can change it,” he answers, roused from his groggy state. He reaches for the remote.

The sound she makes is somewhere between disgust and irritation. “If only it were as easy as flipping a channel, Bill,” she says. “If only you could just turn some feelings off.”

She grabs the remote from his hand and turns off the television. “It’s not that easy.”

“What feelings are you talking about?”

He tries to meet her eyes but she’s avoiding them, her fingers gripping the remote. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he says. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

He gets that dull nausea in his gut almost immediately; the sense that something’s about to go horribly wrong, or maybe it already has.

“Are you insinuating something?” she snaps, looking him in the eyes. He tries not to visibly recoil from her instant anger.

“What the frak would I be insinuating?” He shifts on the couch, now curious as to what secrets she has to tell. Maybe there’s an obvious explanation for her standoffishness; it’s certainly not one he wants to accept at this point, but he can’t help but wonder as she gets up and walks over to the window, staring outside with her hand on her hip.

“I can’t take you being gone all the time. Why the hell do you need to be gone so much?” She doesn’t look at him, merely stares into the darkness beyond the glass.

He laughs. He can’t help it. “Because it’s what I _do_.”

“Well, maybe you need to rethink what you _do_.”

That turns his mood quickly; he didn’t expect that, coming from her. He feels suddenly on the defensive. “Why would I? What’s wrong with what I do? It’s certainly providing you with a good enough living.”

That gets her attention; he knew it would. She looks directly at him, anger settling into her features as she crosses her arms. “You’re never around. And you’re changing.”

“I’m changing,” he repeats slowly, pushing himself off the couch and running a hand through his hair with a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I’m not the guy you married. Maybe I’m better than the guy you married, now. Is that what you can’t take?”

She tilts her head and seems to be scrutinizing him. He feels a current of frustration running beneath the calm he’s trying to maintain. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“That I’m not your charity case anymore.”

There—he said it. He’d been feeling it for too long, anyway. He feels vulnerably exposed in this moment, though, and he can tell from the way she looks that she’s about to take advantage of it.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve worked my way up. Maybe you can’t handle that I’m more successful now than I was then.” He starts pacing the carpet, feeling it sink beneath his bare feet. “Is it easier for you to have me grateful for everything you’re doing for me?”

“You never seem grateful for anything I do for you anymore.”

She laughs and it grates on his nerves. They’re quickly fraying and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t stop this immediately. He could leave; he could just walk out of the room and leave her to stew. But this has been a long time coming.

He doesn’t stop.

“What have you done for me lately?” he asks.

“Nothing, lately,” she says, her tone biting. “Because you’ve been _gone_ for _three months_. Off doing whatever to whoever.”

“Wait a frakkin’ second,” he growls. He stops pacing and faces her, teeming with anger at the implications behind her choice of words. The look on her face almost suggests she’s going to back down, but she’s never been one to back down for long.

“Bill, sometimes I think we don’t know each other anymore.” She sounds calmer, restrained.

“Have I changed that much?” He stares at her, not sure if he’s more upset or heartbroken at her declaration. He feels it in his chest, settling in like dread, heavy, tightening. “Have you really changed that much?”

“I don’t know,” she says, throwing her hands in the air and letting out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know, Bill, all I know is that this life is not what I wanted.”

“What the frak do you want, then?”

“I want a family, Bill. I want you here. I want the guy who’s around to love his wife and raise his kids.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t notice his fingers have curved into fists until he feels the deep impression of his fingernails sending pricks of pain through his palms. “Frak, Carolanne... you knew this going in. You knew going in that this was the direction our life was headed. You never had a problem with this before.” He watches her shift on her feet as she looks away. “Are you just making up shit now? Trying to come up with reasons why we shouldn’t be together?”

“I’m not making shit up, Bill. It’s right in front of your face. See it.”

“You wanna be with someone else or something?” He has a brief vision of hitting her and he’s even angrier at her for making him consider such an action. It shocks him and he blinks and bites his lower lip until he tastes blood before he continues, his voice low. “Did you find a better father for these imaginary kids you want so badly?”

She stares at him, then heads for the front hall closet and slides the wooden door open with a loud bang. It jolts him and he realizes she’s putting on her coat to leave. He walks over to her and puts his hand on her arm as she slides it through her coat.

“Don’t leave,” he says.

“Don’t _tell_ me what to _do_.”

His grip tightens on her arm. “Don’t _leave_.”

“Get your hands off me, Bill.” Each word feels like a dagger, pushing into his skin, into his heart.

He lingers. He knows he shouldn’t; some part of him wants to see her react. He feels like he’s nearly craving the next step in this frakked up dance they’re doing around each other.

The next step, he finds, is her open palm striking the side of his face. It’s unexpected, as is his response. He grabs the back of her hair and kisses her hard, holding her mouth to his as she struggles, a whimper of protest muffled against his lips.

He pushes her up against the wall next to the door and keeps his mouth on her; he can feel her teeth against his lips and her body writhing under his weight as he pins her there, grunting into her mouth. He feels himself growing hard and he’s shocked that this, of all things, is what makes him want her more than he has in the three months he’s been gone.

He grinds his hips against hers and she manages to twist her mouth out of their kiss. “Frak you,” she gasps. “Let me go.”

“You don’t want me to.” His hand is still tangled in her hair as his other hand reaches for his zipper, tugging it down. Her hands are pulling at his shirt; at first he thinks she’s trying to rip it so she can scratch him. Maybe she’d make him bleed; maybe she’d leave scars. There’s nothing he can do about it.

Then he realizes that she’s trying to yank it up over his head. He unbuttons his pants as she sheds his shirt and this time, she kisses him, capturing his tongue and sucking on it, making him tingle.

His pants slip down his legs and he pulls his cock out, giving it a stroke, groaning at the feel of it pulsing in his hand. He pushes her pants down roughly with both hands, the cotton soft against his palms. Her underwear is next; he tugs it down so hard she cries out, sounding surprised.

He feels her hands move to the back of his hair, twisting into it, pulling so hard it hurts. It burns. There’s no stopping this now. He slides his cock across her heat, thrusting his hips so hard against her body that she hits the wall with a gasp. Lips capturing her breath, their tongues tangle aggressively.

“Tell me you want me,” he growls against her mouth, biting her lip. “Frak, tell me. Tell me.”

“I want you.” She whimpers, peppering his mouth with soft, short kisses. “I want you here, I want you here... ”

He pushes into her with a hard thrust and her words are interrupted by her sharp cry at the sensation, her fingernails raking over the nape of his neck. He pulls her thighs up and she wraps them around him as he pushes her against the wall as hard as he can for leverage. He fraks her, driving into her out of frustration and a desperate attempt at regaining some of the control he feels slipping away in their lives. Her thighs are shaking against his hips; she shudders around his cock.

She kisses him and won’t stop; she won’t let him pull away, even to catch his breath after he spills into her, a strangled groan caught in his throat.

Six weeks later, he receives a telegraph transmission that he’s going to be a father.

/ chapter one  
  



	2. Unwound (2/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwinding the labyrinth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/profile)[ **tjonesy**](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/) bought my services in the [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) auction and requested a story in which Bill and Ellen frakked. This is what happened. Thanks to her for inspiring me to write it and putting her foot up my ass to finish it. My love and overly affectionate praise go out to [](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/profile)[**larsfarm77**](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/) and [](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/profile)[**somadanne**](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/) for the amazing betas.

**Title:** Unwound (2/4)  
 **Author:** [](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/profile)[**icedteainthebag**](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/)  
 **Word Count:** 3,627  
 **Rating:** MA  
 **Pairings:** Bill Adama/Carolanne Adama, Bill Adama/Ellen Tigh  
 **Summary:** Unwinding the labyrinth.  


A tiny fist—the smallest thing he’s ever seen—barely wraps around his finger.

Lee looks like her. He’s thankful for that.

He’s never felt more unsure of himself as when he’s looking into his son’s blue eyes. He doesn’t want to fail at this.

He doesn’t want to become his father.

x x x x

Bill hears from Carolanne rarely when he’s shipside. The frequent telegraph transmissions and phone calls to discuss their daily lives petered off to communications deemed necessary or important. Bought a new refrigerator. Lee took his first steps. The gardener is doing a shitty job at weeding and she wishes he were there to deal with it so that she didn’t have to—just another example of how his absence causes irritation and frustration in her life.

He’s stopped trying to explain to her the logic, in his defense, that the only reason she has these things is because he’s on a frakking Battlestar, working his ass off.

He used to miss hearing from her, but instead, now, he buries himself in his work, running training operations and squadron exercises, plotting defensive strategies, his head in the stars. They’re completely worthless wastes of time that keep his mind occupied. He walks the hallways, listening to the oxygen scrubbers, feeling the ship’s energy around him, vibrating inside of him.

He loves her.

Shipboard, he attends promotion parties for his pilots, pats their backs, listens to their stories and tells his own. For some of them he’s the only father they’ve had; a lot of them came into the military down on their luck and looking for something or someone to believe in. That’s where he comes in. Sometimes, he thinks he’ll never be able to be there for Lee in the same way that he’s here for these kids. It doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it should; this fact alone keeps him up every so often, on the rare night that the guilt hits him like a sucker punch to the gut until he numbs it with a drink.

He considers it dumb luck that Carolanne got pregnant again the one time they actually managed to frak on his last shore leave. It will be one more son he doesn’t get to see as much as he feels like he should. At least they have a mother around; they’ve got that going for them. Their father may be absent, but at least their mother is there.

It’s more than he had.

x x x x

It’s summertime and he’s off rotation; they head to the beach with a picnic basket and the boys in tow. She’d suggested the outing and he agreed. He usually agrees to her ideas. It gives her some semblance of control and he’s too tired anymore to deal with what happens when he disagrees with her.

It’s just the beach. He can do the beach.

Lee and Zak barrel down the sandy incline to the shore, taunting each other over who will reach the water first. He lays out the blanket and they sit side by side. Carolanne wraps her arms around her legs. He doesn’t; he stretches out, leaning back on his arms. It’s been a long time since he felt the sun warm on his skin.

“Nice to be home,” he says, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to pretend this feels like home for you anymore,” she responds.

The sun is warm on his skin. He breathes in. The air is fresh.

She’s right. It doesn’t.

x x x x

In the picture, they’re smiling. They’re young. It was the way it was before.

He wraps their wedding photo in an undershirt and stuffs it deep into his bag. He hopes she won’t notice that it’s gone. He doesn’t want her to realize he’s taken it with him; she might demand he give it back. It’s been so long since he’s seen her look at it. It doesn’t mean anything to her.

It still means something to him.

 _I know you want to leave, so just do it._

He was always leaving. Sometimes he felt guilty; sometimes he didn’t. She’d been telling him this in a dozen different ways over the past year, ways that he could so easily ignore when he spent about three-quarters of that year shipside. But hearing her say the words made it suddenly real. She couldn’t stand it when he wasn’t around, and now she can’t wait to see him gone.

It was this ascent into command that pulled him away from her, this ascent that pushed her away from him. He takes responsibility for that. The lure of this mistress was more than he could resist. It became more fulfilling to wake up alone in a cramped rack, surrounded by the hum of his ship and his family there, than it was to wake up with her breath in his ear.

He never cheated on her—he’s not that type of person, loyalty ground into him from day one. This affair is less physical than emotional. He fell in love with being needed.

Carolanne didn’t need him anymore; she didn’t want the person he’d become. He didn’t want the person she’d become. It still hurt, regardless of the reality of things.

He knew when they started to fight about how much time he stayed away from home that his reaction to her desperation—anger, frustration, confusion—meant he had to choose one or the other... his wife or his ship.

It took him too long to acknowledge that he’d known what he wanted for a long time.

He’d been raised in an environment where business and family were irrevocably intertwined. Hard as he tried, he could never work out the perfect combination when it came to the Fleet and Carolanne and the boys. But this was a different kind of business.

They both had their responsibilities to everyone but each other.

This is what he’s meant to be doing. He knows it in his gut. It’s the feeling he gets every time he walks into the hangar at the Caprican Air Base and sees his Battlestar, waiting for him to come home.

So, this afternoon that started out like any other with the kids in the pool and the two of them watching the seemingly indestructible joy of youth, he tells her they should get a divorce.

He isn’t around enough, he drove her to drink, he’s left her to raise their kids alone—he tells her these things and she’s nodding, agreeing with him as he flays himself right in front of her. She’s probably been waiting years for this day. He’s failed at the one thing he was desperate not to fail at, but he told her from the beginning that it was impossible to have it both ways.

It’s what she wants; he gives in again.

It’s not what he wants; it’s a choice he’s willing to live with.

He tells his kids goodbye with a Fleet-issue duffel bag over his shoulder. He tells himself they don’t know the difference between this time and all the other times he’s left. The difference is, this is the first time there are tears in his eyes, and there’s a note of recognition in Lee’s face that he chooses to ignore. He takes the outside stairs more carefully than usual because his vision has blurred.

He isn’t coming back.

x x x x

Bill sits in his car alongside a nondescript residential road with his phone in his hand. He ended up here as he drove aimlessly for hours until he needed to stop moving, and this street with the cookie-cutter houses and the landscaped lawns and families outside enjoying the sun is where he landed. The irony doesn’t escape him.

He knows he can count on Saul for anything, but it doesn’t make it any easier to dial his number.

“It better be good, you old frakker. I’m watching the pyramid pre-game.”

Bill smiles; it could be more of a grimace. “Hey. I’ve had some... there’s some shit that went down today and I need a place to land for a while.”

“What’d you do now?”

Bill stares out the windshield at a boy and a girl tossing a bright pink ball in a front yard, back and forth, three times, four times. “Not enough.”

x x x x

He arrives at Saul’s apartment. It’s a cramped two-bedroom on the east side of Caprica City. Bill spent a lot of time on this side of town as a kid, mostly to his chagrin, and though there’s been an attempt at revitalization in the past few years, there are some stains you just can’t work out no matter how hard you try. But the apartment, despite its abject surroundings, is a place to go to and frankly, he doesn’t have anywhere else. It seems serendipitous that he met Saul when he did. He’s not one to believe in luck or fates or whatever else brought them into this arrangement, but it’s worked out, especially today.

Saul greets him awkwardly. He’s moving in. They’re going to live together. This is not something that grown guys normally do. Bill reminds himself that they used to bunk together on the freighter all the time. He’s also seen Saul in a much worse state than what just arrived on his doorstep.

They don’t judge each other for their decisions or their mistakes. They never have.

“Hey. Everything all right?” Saul asks, stepping aside, allowing him in.

“Yeah,” Bill says, hefting the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Fine.”

“’Kay,” Saul grunts.

He follows Saul up the narrow staircase and down the hallway to the apartment. Looks like he made an attempt at cleaning since the last time they had beers and watched the pyramid game a week ago. At least he can see the surface of the kitchen island. In some spots.

“Here’s the guest room. Your room.” Saul quickly corrects himself, opening the door. Bill walks in. It’s a tight space with a desk, a nightstand and a bed. There’s a small window with a faded curtain and he can hear the droning of cars on the city street two floors below. Dust dances in the slivers of light that are cast down onto the worn carpet under his feet. He watches it until he hears Saul clear his throat, pulling him out of his stupor.

“Thanks,” Bill says, tossing his bag onto the comforter. He stares at it, disbelief swirling deep in the pit of his stomach. Reality’s sinking in, and it’s a bitch.

“You need anything, don’t even ask, just get it.” Saul’s hanging back in the doorway, like the room isn’t his property any more.

Bill looks at him over his shoulder. “All right.”

“I’m no housewife, Adama.”

A burst of deep laughter escapes him; it feels good. “You mean I can’t expect dinner on the table by six?”

“If you think dinner’s a bottle of liquor and a couplea tumblers, you’re in the right place.”

It’s been a while since he felt like he was in the right place, but this isn’t half bad.

x x x x

 _“Stick to what you know until you find something better.”_

There’s a little bar down the street from Saul’s apartment building in a strip of nondescript brick buildings with windows shuttered to the street. Nobody wants to be seen here and everybody’s trying to escape the world outside.

It’s the only place he feels like he wants to be at this point. He’d sat in the guest room until he couldn’t take the isolation and sat in the living room with Saul until it felt uncomfortable enough for him to leave.

He didn’t really have a place at the moment; he might as well commingle with others of the same affliction.

There’s no secret knock to get in the door, but Bill knows the area well enough to know it’s generally accepted that there are certain people who belong here and certain people who don’t. There’s music blaring, a hip hop mix that was more popular when he was younger. Whatever it is, it’s playing too loudly. Normally it would bother him, but the noise is a welcome distraction from the silence of his room back at Saul’s or the second-guessing and self-pity whirring around inside his head.

It’s surprising to him, given the environment, that a tall blonde woman walks into the room and doesn’t turn around and walk right back out. She’s dressed to the nines. He’s sitting on a barstool while he still has the balance, sucking down his second glass of whiskey, and he eyes her speculatively as she strides up to the long, pitted wood countertop.

“A blonde walks into a bar... ” the bartender says under his breath.

She looks at the bartender, unfazed. “You got a phone?”

“For customers,” the bartender says, sliding her an empty glass.

“Frak.” She heaves her black bag up on the counter, rummaging until she finds a few cubits and slaps them down. “Give me whatever this’ll get me, and then give me your phone.”

Bill takes another draw on his drink and watches the bartender fill her glass with second-rate Gemenese liquor that’s not at all worth the money she just put down. She eyes the bottle, then picks up the glass and looks at it as the bartender walks away.

“Highway frakkin’ robbery,” she announces, loud enough to be heard over the music.

He watches as she drinks it anyway, her nose wrinkling in distaste. She taps her fingernails on the top of the bar and watches the bartender’s back, her look scathing until he returns with the phone. Bill sees her expression instantly change upon meeting the bartender’s eyes again.

“Thank you so much,” she drawls, half a smile turning up the corner of her mouth as she takes it from him. She begins to dial and then looks straight at Bill. Her scowl has returned. “Am I really that captivating?”

He looks straight down at his drink with an embarrassed chuckle. “No.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m _not_ captivating.”

He looks back up at her but her back is already turned, the phone to her ear. He wants to hear what she’s saying, but the music and the barroom ruckus are overpowering. Instead, he orders another drink, a request the bartender doesn’t mind filling.

Her conversation is short and she appears to be more exasperated when she turns back around to face the bar. She scoots up onto the barstool next to him with a soft grunt, spinning the phone on its back on the countertop. “You can have your godsdamned phone back,” she says loudly, “not that it did me any frakkin’ good. Not a cab in this city’s willing to come down here at this hour.”

He winces and now intentionally avoids looking at her as she holds this conversation with nobody in particular. She’s obviously not familiar with the area and she’s pretty lucky the wrong people didn’t hear her declaration of how unsuitable she was finding her surroundings. He smells the faint scent of her perfume—a heavy, complicated floral mix—as she shifts on the chair, her elbow propping her up on the bar. He sees her face him out of his peripheral vision.

“You look like you need some company,” she says.

He regards her sharply, having a sudden realization as to why a pretty woman like her would walk into a place like this. “I don’t think so,” he says, sipping his drink. “I’ll pass.”

“The frak... ” She pushes her hair back from her face. She obviously knows what he’s thinking. “You think I’m a whore or something?”

The alcohol may be buzzing through his system, but he knows better than to call a woman a whore to her face, even if she’s suspect of it. “I didn’t say that.”

“No,” she answers. “But you thought it. And that makes you” —she waves the bartender down with a flick of her wrist—“a frakkin’ asshole.”

“I’m a frakkin’ asshole because I thought a pretty woman walking into a shithole like this looking like a million cubits and saddling up to the most lonely-looking frakker in the joint seemed suspicious?”

The bartender grabs the cheap bottle of Gemenese liquor and she covers the glass with her hand. “Frak that shit, buster,” she commands. “Give me what he’s having. Put it on his tab.”

The bartender looks at him. She’s good—she knows he’ll look like a pathetic frak if he says no. “Fine. Pour the lady a drink.”

“With an olive,” she adds.

He looks at her curiously.

They both watch as the bartender fills up her glass completely with the amber liquid that matches his own, then places an olive on a bright red sword on the side with no comment. He sips, enjoying the burn and the mounting buzz he feels slowly taking over his body.

“What did I just order?” she asks.

“Aerelon whiskey,” he replies.

Her hum is low and appreciative. “You are a man of distinguished taste,” she says, raising the glass. “And deep pockets.”

“You don’t know me at all.”

“I knew you needed some company, didn’t I?”

“And _you_ needed a phone.” He takes another drink.

She takes a long, slow draw off her whiskey and he’s impressed at her straight face. She’s a drinker. There’s no way anyone else could have taken it that easily. “I needed to call my pimp.”

He deserved that one. He takes his lumps with a grin, convincing himself it’s okay to smile. He needs to relax; that’s why he came out tonight.

“Bad date. I escaped on foot,” she explains. She seems indignant, like she needs to suddenly justify her presence.

“That’s a pretty bad date.”

“Never had the greatest taste in men.” She drinks more whiskey, her tongue flicking over her lips, eyes closed. He takes too long to look away from her mouth, but his reaction time isn’t the greatest at the moment. “So, how about you? Waiting for someone?”

“No.”

“Looking for someone?”

“Not really.”

Thirty minutes ago, his answer would have been a resolute ‘no.’

“Nobody goes to the bar to get drunk by themselves,” she declares. It’s no amazing revelation she’s making, but she sounds like she’s impressed with herself. He realizes this woman seems to only have one volume: loud.

“I came to watch the pyramid semifinals.”

It’s true, in a way. It’s on the television above the bar, and he’d been glancing at it, but every time he did, it only made him more depressed. The Panthers were getting assfrakked by the Libran Leopards.

 _The Libran_ frakking _Leopards_ , he thinks, sucking down the rest of his drink.

“I hope you’re cheering for the Leopards, for your sake.”

“Who cheers for them?”

“Good point. Frakkin’ bullshit, the Panthers this year.”

Like she’s reading his mind.

“Tumolt needs to come back from retirement,” he says with a heavy sigh.

“So say we all. Wasn’t _that_ a mistake. He’ll come back. Betcha next season, already. He won’t be able to keep himself away.”

“Panthers’ll offer him a couple million cubits.”

“Not if the Bucs sweep him up first.”

“Frakkin’ Bucs.”

She takes a drink. “So, a Panthers fan, huh?”

“Yeah. Never really been into the Bucs. My dad used to know the owner.”

“Really.” She doesn’t seem nearly as interested in the name-dropping as he expected. She sucks the olive off the tiny red sword and arches her eyebrow. “Are you trying to impress me?”

“Maybe.”

He decides to be honest. He might as well; he doesn’t have anything to lose. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to make a good show of it, but the ideas that are starting to overrun his mind aren’t good ideas at all right now for a lot of reasons.

“Well, if you’re trying to impress me... what do you do?”

“Nothing I’m real passionate about, as of late.”

“Okay, the impression I’m getting is not the impression you want me to have. Of that, I am sure.”

He chuckles. “Colonial Fleet.”

“Well, I coulda told you that already.”

His tongue is starting to tingle, about to go numb. Not a bad feeling after the day he’s had. “How?”

“You Fleet guys are all the same.” She pokes his biceps with her red sword. “You wanna tell me what you _do_ for the Fleet?”

“If you know so much, why don’t you tell me?”

“You’re an officer. But you don’t command your own ship.” She examines him, then drops her miniature weapon into her empty glass. “Not yet.”

“You’re good,” he answers. “I’m the Executive Officer on the _Columbia_.”

“Good for you, ’cause I’ve got a thing for XO’s.”

“Why’s that good for me?”

She laughs. “I’ll let you guess.”

He ignores the tightening he feels in his groin at the undercurrent of seduction he hears in her words. “You looking for a ride home or something?”

“I don’t know. You want to give me a ride?”

For a couple of seconds he’s not sure what she means, but any perplexity exacerbated by the alcohol is no match for the slide of her palm over the denim that’s tight across his thigh.

There’s a decision to be made, he realizes as he feels the heavy weight of her hand press down on his leg. Anticipation flutters in his gut as he looks down at her slender fingers, then into her eyes.

 _She really does have bad taste in men_ , he thinks.

“I’m in no state to drive,” he says. “But I live a couple blocks away.”

She’s the cat that ate the canary.

/chapter two  
  



	3. Unwound  (3/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwinding the labyrinth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/profile)[ **tjonesy**](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/) bought my services in the [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) auction and requested a story in which Bill and Ellen frakked. This is what happened. Thanks to her for inspiring me to write it and putting her foot up my ass to finish it. My love and overly affectionate praise go out to [](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/profile)[**larsfarm77**](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/) and [](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/profile)[**somadanne**](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/) for the amazing betas.

**Title:** Unwound (3/4)  
 **Author:** [](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/profile)[**icedteainthebag**](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/)  
 **Word Count:** 5,815  
 **Rating:** MA  
 **Pairings:** Bill Adama/Carolanne Adama, Bill Adama/Ellen Tigh  
 **Summary:** Unwinding the labyrinth.  


Bill keys in and lets her walk in first. He feels like he’s in college again as he watches her examine their surroundings. Saul’s left the hallway light on, which is about as considerate as he gets.

“You are such a _guy_ ,” she says, toeing the pile of boots under the table on which Saul’s tossed at least a week’s worth of mail and his car keys.

“I only live here.” He kicks off his boots and adds them to the pile. She leaves her shoes on as she picks up a letter, like it’s any of her business.

“Saul?” she asks. “Your name’s Saul Tigh?”

Her tone is loud and he glances down the hallway to Saul’s closed door. He doesn’t want her to wake him; it would be awkward to have to explain this.

His reaction is delayed, but he realizes then that they haven’t even exchanged names. He feels his cheeks flush with even more heat than already provided by the alcohol. “No. That’s my roommate. The guy I’m letting the room from.”

She chuckles once, tossing the letter back to the table. “Are you gonna tell me your name or you want me to make something up for you?”

“As much fun as that’d be, my name’s Bill.”

She smiles, pulling her hair behind her ear. “Bill. William?”

“Yes.”

“Your dad’s name?”

“My grandfather’s.” He watches her shed her coat and she hands it to him. He takes it and hangs it in the hall closet before taking a better look at her. The short black sheath dress hangs on her slender frame, thin spaghetti straps resting against the soft rise of her collarbone. He feels an urge to press his mouth against the ridge right under her neck, but resists.

“So,” she says, shifting her weight on her heels. “Your roommate, is he gone?”

“He’s sleeping.”

She nods, biting her lip. Then she tilts her head and narrows her eyes with a nod. “Let’s cut the crap, Bill. I’m not here for conversation. And I don’t think that’s why you brought me here.”

“I don’t kn—”

“It’s not.” She interrupts him, smiling. “So why don’t you just show me your room already?”

He feels his heartbeat quicken and he swallows dryly. “This way.”

He can’t believe he’s doing this; at the same time, maybe it’s the last self-destructive indulgence he needs to complete the cycle.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing hers, and she grasps at them with an affirming squeeze. He walks down the hallway and pushes open his door, wincing at the sharp squeak that increases in volume as he enters the room. He flicks on the light.

“This is it,” he says softly. “It’s not much. I’m kind of in a state of upheaval right now.”

He feels her press against his back and closes his eyes as her hands travel around his waist, then smooth down his hips to rest on either side of his groin.

“I don’t care,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against the nape of his neck.

 _I don’t care anymore, Bill._

He lets out a deeply held breath, pushing the air out until his lungs are completely empty. As he breathes in again, the scent of her fills his senses. Her breasts press firmly against his body as her tongue traces the tension-ridden muscle of his neck. She lets out a soft whimper that makes his cock tingle, arousal kindling deep in his belly.

“You do have a condom, right?”

His eyes open at the sudden jolt of realization that deflates his slowly hardening cock.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“Are you serious?” she asks, the low tone of her voice humming against his shirt.

“Hold on.” He feels like a frakkin’ idiot for not thinking of this before. He could have stopped by the drugstore. He hasn’t bought condoms in ages. “Let me... give me a few.”

She pulls away and he turns around to face her. “You don’t have any?” he asks.

“I told you,” she replies, “I’m not a whore.”

“Frak,” he groans through his teeth. “Hold on.”

“Holding,” she says, putting her hand on her hip.

He leaves her in the bedroom and walks down the hallway, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob of Saul’s room. So much for avoiding the awkward. He can’t really turn her away now.

Saul has to have something. He’s a single guy. A single guy who barhops as a part-time gig.

He pushes open the door. It also squeaks, making Bill’s humiliation grow more as he approaches his new roommate’s bed. A deep, loud snore only amplifies Bill’s guilt at waking Saul for such an occasion.

He’s never going to live this one down.

“Saul.”

Saul grumbles an incoherent response. His slight form seems massive bundled under his comforter.

“Saul. Where do you keep your condoms?”

That did it. Saul turns in his bed and Bill feels like even more of an idiot. “My _what_?”

“You heard me.”

“Why you need those?”

Bill runs his hand through his hair, sighing. “Why do you think?”

Saul chuckles. “Right. You suave frakker. Thought you were just goin’ out for a drink.”

“Yeah, well, so did I.”

“Can I meet ‘er?”

“No, you can’t meet her. I’m not extending an invitation here. Just tell me where your condoms are.”

Saul grunts. “Bedside table. Take a few. I don’t want you wakin’ me up every time you’ve got a booty call.”

Bill yanks open the drawer and fumbles around in it, finding the box and shaking a few condoms into his hand.

“These aren’t those ones for guys with smaller dicks, are they?”

“Frak you, Adama. Get outta my face.” Saul turns over, his bed squeaking at the disturbance. Bill heads for the door.

“Keep it down and have a good time,” Saul says. “You’ve earned it.”

He walks into the bedroom and closes the door. She’s turned on the lamp on the nightstand. The light is soft, highlighting the pale tone of her skin and its contrast against her dress.

She’s sitting on his bed, leaning back on her hands, her legs slightly askew. Her eyes move over him as he stands in front of her and he feels his cock twitch in response.

“So,” she says quietly.

He takes a step toward her, just within reach of her foot. She taps his ankle with her toes and catches the hem of his jeans between them. “So,” he echoes.

Her smile is slight, encouraging. “You gonna come closer or what?”

Her foot nudges his bare calf under the leg of his jeans. Her voice is soft—not the brash, obnoxious tone she used to overpower the thumping music at the bar. She seems smaller here, less intimidating. More human, less caricature. One strap slides off her shoulder.

He runs his thumb over the back of his wedding band, over and over, the metal smooth and warm under his touch. He steps between her knees and looks down at her. His heart begins to thump harder in his chest. “Close enough?”

She nods, then sits up, her eyes never leaving his, despite her now close proximity to his groin. “Close enough,” she murmurs, her voice lower as her hand pushes over the bulge under his zipper. She runs her palm along the length of him and his breath catches. Her lips curl into a half smile that expresses her approval more than words ever could.

“I think... ” She pauses and pulls his zipper down, then flicks open the button. She slides his jeans down his thighs and they fall around his ankles. “I think _you_ want _me_ to suck you off, Bill. Is that what you want?”

He grits his teeth and sucks in a sharp breath as her fingers tease his hardening cock through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. “What do _you_ want?”

“A lot of things.”

“Me too.”

Her breath is hot through the fabric. He breathes out slowly.

“But right now... ” She gazes up at him again. There’s something haunted in her eyes as her mouth opens and presses against his hardness, her tongue soaking the cotton. The warm dampness that soon meets his skin makes his toes curl against the worn carpet on the floor. He fights to keep looking at her—he feels hypnotized by her and the movement of her mouth. Normally he feels like he’s the one in control at a moment like this, but there’s something about her that convinces him otherwise.

She hooks her thumbs into his briefs and carefully maneuvers them around his erection. They slide down his legs. He watches as she traces her fingernail over the small bull glyph tattooed on his right hip; he’d forgotten it was there.

“Tauron,” she says. “Were you Ha’la’tha?”

He laughs, feeling ridiculous with his cock bobbing along as she gives him an inquisitive look. “If you know anything about Ha’la’tha, you know not to ask.”

“You’re no fun.” She kisses the glyph and he opens his mouth to speak just as her mouth slips over him, the hum in the back of her throat sending an immediate tingle through his balls.

“Frak.” He has to look away, close his eyes, something, to try and compose himself. Her fingers circle around the base of his cock, tightening as she draws her lips back over him, sucking, releasing, taking him in again. He takes a deep, shaking breath, avoiding his hips’ instinctual thrust into the wet heat of her mouth.

His hands hang nervously at his sides until he tentatively reaches out to stroke her hair, soft, silky strands that slip through his fingers as she begins swirling her tongue around the sensitive head of his cock.

“You can,” she breathes, then begins to suck on him in earnest. He tangles his fingers into her hair immediately, allowing his hips to arch slightly into her. His palm cups the back of her head and he feels her hand slide up the back of his thigh to clutch his ass.

“Oh, gods,” he whispers.

She whimpers around him and he shivers at the slide of her tongue under his shaft. He thrusts jerkily against her lips and feels her fingernails dig into his skin, the mounting waves of pleasure through his cock making him realize he’d better slow it down. It’s been too long.

He backs off and she pulls away with a tilt of her head and a smirk. “You’re not done already, are you?”

“Haven’t even started.” He kicks his jeans and briefs off his legs and pulls his turtleneck over his head. “Get up there.”

“Yes, sir,” she purrs, sliding up on the unmade mess of his bed and lying back on his pillows. The dress she’s wearing has ridden up; as she spreads her legs slightly it skims the tops of her thighs, barely concealing her from his view.

He climbs over her body, even more turned on that he’s naked and she’s completely clothed. He leans into her, the smooth texture of her dress against his bare chest making him groan. He rubs his hardness against the warm, dampened fabric between her legs while she traces the muscles of his arms, flexing as he supports his weight.

She bites her lip and starts to writhe in rhythm with him as he teases her with his cock. She spreads her legs wider with a sigh. “Frak,” she breathes, digging her fingernails into the skin of his back. “You’re killing me here.”

He grazes his cock against her again and groans at the sensation that shoots up his spine. “Tell me you want it.”

He needs to feel wanted. He didn’t realize how badly he needed that until this moment.

He feels her reach between them and grab hold of him firmly, squeezing and pulling him, nearly uncomfortably, closer to her body. “Get me out of these panties and frak me.”

“Frak.” He gives her one more grind of his hips, just to make her pant. He rolls to her side, pushing her dress up her stomach and hooking his fingers into her panties. She helps him out and kicks them to the side.

He swipes the condom from the bedside table and starts to slip it on. It’s a tight fit and he grits his teeth. No more borrowing condoms from Saul, he resolves. He can’t help the groan of frustration at the pressure he feels as he manages to stretch it down the rest of his length.

His cock twitches when he notices her watching. He listens to the soft sound of her breath, anticipation thick in the air.

He slides his fingertips up and down her bare torso, feeling goose bumps rise, each swipe of his fingers dipping lower on her abdomen. She twists her hips, trying to tempt him to move his hand lower, but he resists, circling her midriff instead.

“You’re a tease,” she breathes, shivering at his touch.

“So are you.” It’s driving him as crazy as it seems to be driving her. He moves his feather-light fingertips to her inner thigh, his fingers searching out her heat.

She moans, her hand snarling tightly in the back of his hair. She gasps when his fingers enter her; he groans at the slick sensation of her clutching at him. He teases her slowly, thumb making her gasp, slow strokes drawing out another low moan. “Oh, my Gods, just get inside me. Frak me.”

He slides atop her and she yanks her dress over her head, her breasts trapped inside a pretty black bra that feels rough against his tongue and teeth. He sucks on the nipple that rises under the fabric as she sighs, tonguing it and feeling himself grow nearly painfully hard.

He doesn’t want to wait anymore, doesn’t want to think anymore.

He positions himself and slips inside her slowly, growling against her neck as he sinks into her.

“Oh, frak,” she pants, her legs curling tightly around his thighs. “Yes. Come on.”

He thrusts into her then. He surprises himself with the strength of it and she arches her back and meets his hips. Her arms wind around his neck and she clings to him as he begins rocking into her. Her bra chafes against the taut skin of his chest. He shivers and grits his teeth as he starts to pound into her faster, inciting a string of whimpers into his ear.

It feels so good. She’s tight around him and soft, so hot that he has to concentrate on holding back. The too-tight condom wrapped around his cock dulls some of the sensation, and for that he’s glad. He doesn’t want to come yet; it’s been too long since he felt like this.

He grunts and pulls away from her, sliding his arm under her lower back and prompting her to turn over. She flips over onto her belly, then starts to rise on her hands and knees. He grabs her wrists and pushes them up over her head, sending her back down onto her stomach.

“You like it like this?” she breathes, pushing her hips slightly upward. He parts her thighs with his own so that she’s spread wide as he holds her wrists in place.

“You tell me.” He nudges his cock against her again and she draws one leg higher, lifting her hips to get the right angle. He buries his face in her hair with a satisfied groan as he feels his cock slip into her heat again, seating himself inside her.

She arches her back into his chest as much as she can and he tightens his grip on her wrists. His thrusts are steady, slow and hard enough to make her cry out. He grinds himself into her, wanting to bury himself as deeply as he can.

“Good?” he asks. He knows it is.

She moans in response, squeezing her muscles around him and making him shudder. Her breathing turns ragged with every quickening thrust and she rocks her ass against his groin. He pounds into her until he can’t hold off any longer, biting down on her shoulder with one last hard thrust as he comes hard, his growl caught low in his throat.

 _I want you... I want you here, I want you—_

“Gods,” she whimpers as he feels her body tense up under him. He can tell she’s close and he pulls out of her, shedding the condom. He slides down her body, pushing her forcefully onto her back and grunting as he forces her legs over his shoulders. His head is still hazy from his orgasm as he immediately swirls his tongue over her clit, closing his eyes and working her harder.

He’s not in this apartment where he doesn’t have a place; he imagines Carolanne, her body twisting on the sheets of their old bed, back before they used to have to pretend things were perfect.

He’s going to make her come.

He feels her clutch at his shoulders, scratching at him with her nails as her hips rise to his mouth. He groans at the taste of her, bittersweet and hot on his tongue as she moans in rhythm.

“Frak,” she finally cries out, twisting her hips despite his grip on them. He groans and greedily sucks on her, watching her move as she starts to come. She chokes out his name amid her moans, her heels slipping against his sweaty back.

He rests his head against the inside of her thigh as he feels her body’s aftershocks. Her legs fall apart, off of his back as she exudes a deep, long sigh of release.

“Come up here,” he hears her say. He feels brief confusion at the unfamiliarity of his lover’s voice. He opens his eyes.

It’s not her.

x x x x

She watches him as he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. It should make him uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. The threadbare sheet is bunched around her waist and he resists the urge to trail his fingers up the soft curve of her spine. It seems too intimate of a gesture.

Her messy blonde curls nearly hide her face from him. “Tell me something about you that nobody knows.”

“Why?” he asks. He can still feel his body tingling, every sense intensified. He can hear the cars on the street below while he fights off the tempting seduction of sleep.

“Because I asked you to. Because you just frakked me.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Because I can tell you’re the kinda guy who keeps too many secrets.”

Maybe that was the problem all along. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Bill.” She sighs. “Make something up if you have to. I’m not gonna know. Is it too much to ask for a little post-coital conversation?”

“I’m not a real big talker.”

She shakes her head, then presses her cheek deeper into the pillow with a grin. “If you talk half as good as you frak, then I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.”

He smiles, his eyelids heavy. “I hate Tauronese stew.”

Her laugh is sharp. “Okay. That is _not_ an acceptable answer.”

“Why not? It’s something about me that nobody knows.” It’s a half-truth; his father always knew. When his grandmother made stew, he and his father used to take frequent after-dinner trips to Little Tauron to fill up on something more edible.

“That’s because nobody _cares_.”

He smiles. “Sure they do. My grandmother used to care.”

“Then your grandmother knew.”

“Yeah... ” He squeezes his eyes shut in realization. “Frak.”

He can hear the smug satisfaction in her voice. “So, _again_... tell me something about you that _nobody_ knows. Not even dear old grandma.”

If only his grandmother were around to hear her say that. There’s something intriguing about this exchange; it feels precarious, but he can’t pin down why. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly along with his next words. “I kissed a boy when I was twelve.”

He looks at her just as an expression of fascinated curiosity spreads across her features. “That’s _adorable_.”

“It’s something.” He slides his hands across his belly, winding his fingers together.

“Did you like it?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

She doesn’t need to know any more than what he said. He’s learned to keep the most intimate details of his past where they belong. “It was awkward.”

He doesn’t do awkward well. He never has.

“Why’d you do it?”

“My Uncle Sam was gay. I wanted to know what it was like. And I guess I wondered if I was the same way. You know, because he was, and I spent a lot of time with him.”

She laughs; they’re hard, sharp peals of laughter that make him smile, a warm blush spreading over his cheeks. She buries her face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

“I was young. I didn’t know shit.”

She speaks into the pillow. “Nobody does when they’re young, Bill.”

He draws his fingers along his stomach, the circular pattern soothing on the taut skin covering his muscles. “It was a rough time.”

“Where did it happen?” She turns on her side and balls her fist in the sheet, pulling it up to cover her body. She’s smiling deviously.

“In my room. We were looking at comic books.”

“Comic books.”

“Yes, _comic books_.”

“And you just leaned over and... ”

“Yeah. I looked at him and just went for it. He must’ve thought I was frakkin’ nuts.”

She reaches out and her fingertips slide over his arm. “Aw. He was probably flattered.”

“No.” He pauses, remembering. “He pulled away and punched me square in the eye. Hurt like a bitch. Told me he wasn’t gay. I said I wasn’t either. I was mortified he’d tell someone, but I never got hell for it, so I guess he kept quiet. And I told my father I got into a fight at school to explain the shiner.”

“You get into a lot of fights as a kid, Ha’la’tha?”

“I won my share. And I never said I was Ha’la’tha, by the way.”

She rolls her eyes with a chuckle. “You didn’t want to tell your father you got it for coming onto your friend.”

“For _kissing_ my friend,” he clarifies. “Things were rocky enough as it was. I didn’t need that in the mix.”

“What was rocky about it?”

He shifts and turns on his side to face her, despite the sudden strong urge to turn away. “What about you?” he asks.

She hums, her look pensive. “I’m not sure there’s anything about me that nobody else knows.”

He slides his arm under his pillow, watching her think. “There has to be something.”

“Maybe there isn’t,” she says. “Maybe I’m not as mysterious as you think I am.”

He chuckles. “I doubt that.”

He watches as her hand moves to his chest, her fingertips skating through the sparse hairs there. “Is this what you do every weekend? Go to the bar and pick up the most mysterious woman you can find and ravage her?”

“No,” he says. “It was a hard weekend.”

He doesn’t want to tell her why; letting her know that he’s injured will only make it seem like she just gave him a pity frak, and that’s the last thing he needs to feel right now.

“Ah.” She pats his chest. “You only pick up mysterious women on the _hard_ weekends.”

“I haven’t picked up a woman in a while.” In more time than he’s willing to admit to her.

She glances at his hands; he knows she had to have seen his ring already, so he doesn’t feel the need to explain any further. “You didn’t answer my question. Tell me something about yourself.”

“You’re an evasive motherfrakker when you want to be.” She sighs deeply. “Okay. Well... I don’t normally do this.”

“One-night stands?”

“What else would I be talking about, frakking? Yeah. I don’t normally do one-night stands.”

“Me either.” He closes his eyes, indulging in the relief he feels. “You seemed pretty into it at the bar.”

“Just because a woman’s forward doesn’t mean she’s a slut.”

He’s not going to argue with her. He’s had his share of losing arguments with combative, beautiful women lately. “I just assumed you’d cast the net and I was the fish who got stuck.”

“No. There’s something more about you,” she says slowly, her head nodding a little like she’s thinking hard about her next words. “I felt like I needed to go home with you.”

“Okay, now _that’s_ a line of bullshit.”

“Listen to me,” she says, her eyes narrowing. She pulls her hand away from his chest and clutches at the sheet, bunching it closer to her body. “I don’t do bullshit. I’m gonna tell it like it is.”

“I’m just not into this... ‘the fates led me to this’ thing. I don’t buy it. But thanks for trying to make me feel good about myself.”

“I wasn’t trying to do that,” she says. “I was being honest.”

”I appreciate your honesty.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind me asking what’s with the ring.”

For some reason, she’s intent on deconstructing him, piece by piece. But in his spent state, he’s starting to feel more trusting of her. “You need me to explain it to you?”

“Only if you want to.” She bats her eyelashes at him, a quirky smile on her face.

“I’m married.”

Her eyebrows rise. “No kidding. But not for much longer.”

“How do you know?” His gut begins to feel queasy. He’s not ready to talk about this with anyone. He can’t even admit it to himself. It hasn’t sunk in; he hasn’t let it.

“You were at the bar drinking by yourself and you live with another guy. There’s a duffel bag in the corner. And you frakked me like you hadn’t gotten some in at least a couple years.”

“It hasn’t been _that_ long.” He closes his eyes as he blushes. He was too quick to answer that one. He’s sure she caught on.

“It’s been too long.” He hears a hint of sympathy in her voice.

“Did it seem like it’s been too long?”

She laughs. “You didn’t seem out of practice, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

He’s quiet; the flattery feels nice, but it’s no balm for the hurt that’s slowly simmering as they continue down this path of conversation.

“Besides, I don’t know why someone would give up this.” He feels her slide her hand over his hip and across his cock, causing a twinge of arousal at the base of it as she cups his half-hard flesh.

“Yeah?” he asks, opening his eyes to see if she’s as earnest as she sounds. She squeezes him and he feels himself slowly growing harder against her palm.

“You have a really nice cock.”

“What’s so nice about it?”

“You have to know.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes with sigh. He looks at her expectantly; she notices and grins. “It’s thick, not too long and”—she begins to stroke him slowly and a pant escapes his lips—“incredibly responsive.”

He represses a low groan at the pulse of pleasure he feels thrumming inside of him. Her satisfied laugh is low and anticipatory, and he thinks this must be what it’s like to be preyed upon.

It’s a good feeling.

“Mhmm,” she hums. She slides over to his side of the bed and, slinging a leg over his hips, sits upright, hovering over him. She leans over him to the bedside table, where she plucks up another condom and starts unwrapping it. “So why are you still wearing the ring?”

She doesn’t sound offended, more matter-of-fact, as she tosses the wrapper away. He runs his hands up her bare thighs and her sides as she reaches back to unfasten her bra. It falls loose and he pulls the straps down her arms, tossing it to the floor.

Cupping her breasts, he teases her nipples and she moans with a slight rock of her hips, grazing his erection with her heat. He shivers.

“I can’t take the ring off yet.”

She smiles halfheartedly at him, then puts a hand between them to start working the condom down over him, her fingers circling and squeezing him. He’s never seen a condom as sexy before, but the way she’s handling it is turning him on. He tries not to groan at the tightening sensation and the stroking of her fingers.

“Lucky for you, women like me see that ring as a challenge and not a deterrent,” she says.

He’s still working his palms against her; she’s got a great set of tits and it’s a shame he’s only seeing them now. She starts to pant softly and he feels her hips rocking more intently, his now-sheathed cock finally slipping against her folds, seeking entrance. “Is that why you came up to me?” he manages, though he’s having a hard time remembering what they’re referring to.

“No. Would you stop trying to make excuses for why I wanted to frak you? I can tell you’re not normally the kind of guy who’s insecure.” He feels her reach between them again and stroke him, her grip more firm now, and he huffs in anticipation.

She tilts her head and looks at him with a barely perceptible nod. “You’re letting her get to you.”

He feels his cheeks burning. “I don’t know.”

He grits his teeth as she moves atop him, the tip of his cock breaching her heat.

“Tell me you want this,” she says softly.

“Frak,” he grunts, his cock throbbing against her. He presses his hips upward and she lifts up to tease him, smiling. “I want it.”

She bites her lip, then slides down on his length, hot and smooth around him. Leaning over, she slips her hands under the back of his head, fingernails raking through his hair as she looks into his eyes. Her hair tickles his cheeks.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Show me.”

He thrusts deeply inside her, her head tilting back as her lips part with a gasp. His hands smooth over her ass and he grips her firmly as she begins to writhe in time with his movements. She whimpers with each smooth thrust and he groans as she leans down to press her mouth against his ear, their bodies hot and stuck together with sweat slowly forming between them.

She bears down on him, restricting the motion of his hips and making him acquiesce to her own gentle rocking motion, slow, long strokes that make his breath catch in his throat.

“You need this.” Her breath is hot against his cheek. “To be treated this way.”

He shivers as her muscles tighten around his cock.

 _I deserve this._

He slides his fingers up her back, pulling her closer to him. She twists her fingers tighter into his hair and he feels the sting of his scalp as she grips him, her hips working him harder.

He closes his eyes and listens to her breathing. She feels so good, so hot against him and around him. Focusing on the feel of her body, he barely notices when the first syllable of someone else’s name escapes his lips before he swallows the rest, pushing it back deep inside himself, where it belongs.

“It’s okay.” Her movement is rhythmic as her tongue runs around the shell of his ear. “You feel so good, Bill... so good inside me.”

He feels his balls tingling as his eyes prickle with hot tears. He feels like a frakkin’ idiot and the reality of what’s happening hits him as his orgasm does, spiraling in his head as the pleasure spirals deep inside him, underneath her as she moans appreciatively.

“The frak am I doing,” he breathes as she relaxes, the weight of her body settling upon him.

“You’re living, Bill.” Her lips are pressed against his ear. “You’re alive.”

Her chest rises and falls against his as they lay in silence. He feels her hair soft against the back of his hand and he slides his fingers through the tangled curls, caressing them. It’s then he hears the cars again outside the window, the whirring of the heater, the soft sound of her breath on his neck.

“Do you want me to go?” she asks, running a finger down his cheek and his shoulder. It lingers on his skin, tracing circles on his forearm. “I can. No big deal.”

He’s not sure what the right answer is or what the precedent has been for her in these situations, so he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Stay.”

He knows it’s only temporary solace; after tonight she’ll be gone and he can decide what he’s doing with the rest of his life. Maybe this was good; maybe it’s what he needed after all.

She rolls off him, landing on her back with a barely audible puff of breath. He pulls the sheet over them again and she tugs it up under her arms, across her breasts, shifting until she lets out a comfortable sigh. He slips the condom off his limp cock and it joins the first one on the floor next to the bed. Serves Saul right for not having a trash can in there.

They lay beside each other, looking up at the ceiling. Her fingers rest next to his, but he’s already miles away, thinking about everything the past few hours had helped him to forget.

“Aren’t you going to ask me my name?”

He gasps; he didn’t mean to react so dramatically, and he blushes when he fully realizes his error. She’s right. He is a frakkin’ asshole.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning his head to look at her. She’s grinning, still looking upward, like she can see stars instead of white stucco above their heads.

“Do you want to know it?”

“Yes.”

He’s not sure that he does, but it seems like the right thing to do.

Her eyes travel to his, her grin softening. It strangely sets him at ease. “Ellen.”

He smiles. His fingers find hers and grasp at them; she tucks his hand into her palm and squeezes it.

“Ellen,” he repeats softly, closing his eyes. He feels dizzy and suddenly exhausted. The day has been long and the alcohol has worn off, leaving his senses dull and his stomach unsteady.

“Thank you for the lovely evening, Ellen.”

“Thank you,” she says.

Her hand is clutching his and at the last moment before drifting off into sleep, he lets himself pretend it’s a more familiar hand, in a more familiar room, somewhere far away from this tiny room with a duffel bag in the corner that holds what’s left of his life.

/chapter three  
  



	4. Unwound  (4/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwinding the labyrinth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/profile)[ **tjonesy**](http://tjonesy.livejournal.com/) bought my services in the [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) auction and requested a story in which Bill and Ellen frakked. This is what happened. Thanks to her for inspiring me to write it and putting her foot up my ass to finish it. My love and overly affectionate praise go out to [](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/profile)[**larsfarm77**](http://larsfarm77.livejournal.com/) and [](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/profile)[**somadanne**](http://somadanne.livejournal.com/) for the amazing betas.

_**Unwound (4/4)**_  
 **Title:** Unwound (4/4)  
 **Author:** [](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/profile)[**icedteainthebag**](http://icedteainthebag.livejournal.com/)  
 **Word Count:** 1,524  
 **Rating:** MA  
 **Pairings:** Bill Adama/Carolanne Adama, Bill Adama/Ellen Tigh  
 **Summary:** Unwinding the labyrinth. Thanks to everyone for reading. This story is important to me and it’s been a great experience sharing it with you and talking about it.  


The sound of laughter in the distance is surprising. He is caught between waking and dreaming, and hazily he feels the anticipation of a typical Sunday morning. He expects Lee and Zak to hit the door like a thunder clap and burst into the room. They’ll jump onto the bed and shake him awake. Their mother is finally tired of holding them at bay. He can smell the French toast she always makes—she always used to make, but hasn’t made in years.

Laughter, again, but he opens his eyes to an empty bed, the details of the dream flitting out of his conscience. The laughter isn’t theirs. It filters through the empty apartment like a score playing over the wrong musical.

He’s still naked and as he shifts his leg in the bed, there’s a subtle soreness that reminds him of his indiscretions the night before.

She’s gone. His heartbeat speeds up in his chest and he wonders if she’s gone home without telling him goodbye, maybe kissing him in thanks. He shouldn’t expect such things. This wasn’t what it was to her, and it shouldn’t be what it is to him.

The laughter, on third occurrence, is recognizably hers. Ellen—he remembers her name as he sits up in bed and scans the room for his boxers, lying incriminatingly in a pile on the floor with her dress. She must have gotten up while he was sleeping, but she wasn’t wearing her own clothes.

Bill hopes she’s wearing something. It’s going to be strange enough this morning with Saul.

He gets up and slips on his boxers, then last night’s shirt for good measure. He pads down the hallway, rubbing his hand across his eyes.

Ellen and Saul are sitting at the kitchen bar across from each other. She’s sipping from a glass of orange juice and he immediately gets the sense that juice isn’t the only thing that’s in it. Bill notices she’s in one of his own dress shirts, her long legs framing the tall barstool. She must have raided his closet while he was sleeping.

“Hey, you,” she says, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “’Bout time you got up. I came out here—I was ravenous, if you know what I mean—and before I knew it, I’d met your roommate.”

Bill walks up to the countertop and stifles a yawn. “Mornin’, Saul.”

“Better morning for you, I’m guessin’,” Saul says. His voice is a low growl. It gets that way when he thinks he’s being clever.

Ellen grins. “You’d better believe it.”

“Oh, I do,” Saul responds.

Ellen’s soft laughter has a flirtatious quality to it that sets Bill on edge, which he quickly passes off as completely unreasonable on his part. He wonders how long she’s been up and having this conversation.

“Saul was just telling me stories about your time on the freighter,” Ellen says, taking another sip of her orange juice. “He could sympathize with me on the fact that you have quite a snore when you go to sleep a little tipsy.”

“Whatever he said, I had nothing to do with that incident in the mess hall.” Bill watches Saul go to the cupboard and get a tall glass. He pours it half-full of orange juice, then reaches for the ever-present bottle of clear liquor to his left.

“If that’s for me, I’ll take straight juice,” Bill says.

“Hair of the dog?”

“I’m all right.”

Saul shrugs, swiping the glass from the counter and delivering it to him. “Here’s to your health. You owe me a good night of sleep, by the way. Got traumatized last night. Think I heard dogs howling out in the alley.”

Ellen laughs. “You probably loved it, Saul.”

Saul chuckles and takes a long gulp of his alcoholic breakfast. “Maybe I did.”

“You’re a sick frak.” Bill sips his juice, the tang on his tongue making him wince. He notices Ellen watching Saul intently, and realizes Saul seems to be returning the gaze. He suddenly gets an overwhelming feeling that he’s interrupting something, but he doesn’t want to believe it.

“I think I’m going to shower,” he says. He lingers, watching for her reaction.

“All right,” she says. “If I’m not here when you get out, thanks for everything.”

Saul glances at him and then looks away, knowing very well that she’s just knocked Bill down several notches by passing him off in such a way.

“Right,” Bill answers, standing up. It’s awkward and he wordlessly leaves the kitchen, headed for the bathroom, his anger growing with each footstep.

The annoyance he feels simmering deep inside is inexplicable as he shuts the bathroom door too hard and sheds his clothes. He needs to relax. This was nothing to her. It was nothing to him.

He steps under the shower, temperature as hot as he can stand it, and lets the water soothe his body.

He doesn’t need her to join him. He got what he needed.

He tilts his head back, water running over his face.

 _Lather, rinse, repeat._

She’s walked out by the time he's walked out.

x x x x

Bill decides to spend the day downtown, taking the Lev to the bookstore in Little Libran. He hasn’t been there in ages, since his father was alive. He expects the store to smell like his father’s cologne when he enters, as it usually mixed in with the dusty newsprint odor lingering in the air with the owner’s omnipresent cup of coffee.

The scent of coffee is still strong. The owner, now hunched over with age as his feeble hands clutch at his mug, still recognizes him by name as he passes the register.

He makes his way to the crimes bookshelf, a location he’d become very familiar with in his previous visits, and skims the books slowly, methodically, as always.

Picking a book is like selecting a lover; he’d been sloppy in the past and ended up unsatisfied. But if he picked the right one, it would settle into him, ground him; he’d explore it slowly until it came to its end, only to read it again, each time finding something new to savor.

He hasn’t read in a very long time. He selects a Nick Pace novel and purchases it, paying the owner a couple of extra cubits and leaving before he has a chance to protest.

In Little Tauron, he goes to a small hole-in-the-wall _umidera_ and orders Tauronese stew, the scent of it bringing him back to his grandmother’s kitchen.

He still hates it.

He picks up some hamburgers on the way back to Saul’s apartment; Saul seems to subsist on a liquid diet and he could probably use what little nourishment a burger and fries provide. His stomach growls—he realizes he hasn’t eaten all day besides the bitter sip of orange juice at the kitchen island with Saul and Ellen.

As he keys into the apartment, he wonders if he’ll ever see her again.

“Saul?” he calls as he walks into the apartment, kicking his boots off under the entryway table. He remembers the night before and gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he makes his way down the hallway. Maybe he went out for the day.

Bill walks past the living room and finds it empty as he places the food bag on the kitchen island. He hears a door squeak open and turns as he removes his book from his jacket pocket.

“Bill, hey.” Saul walks down the hallway toward him. He’s in his boxer shorts. Bill checks his watch; it’s three in the afternoon.

“Hey,” Bill says, turning the book over in his hands to read the back. “You gotta stop walking around half naked now that you’ve got a roommate. I don’t want to see your scrawny chest.”

“ _The River Runs Red_.” Saul’s voice is gruff as he reads the front cover of the book. “You’re not gonna do anything drastic now are ya.”

Bill chuckles. “No. But I did bring you some food.”

Saul stands in front of him, shifting on his feet. Bill looks up from the book jacket and watches his eyes as they wander from the food bag back to him.

“The frak, you don’t like hamburgers?” Bill asks. “You should feel lucky I got you anything at all.”

“Bill, I... ” Saul stops what he’s saying and nods, as if in agreement with himself. The uneasy feeling in Bill’s gut returns as he watches his friend struggling with something that seems more troubling than the food on the counter behind him. “I gotta tell you something.”

Bill stares at him. This isn’t like him at all. “Spit it out, Saul.”

“I didn’t figure on this happening,” Saul says quietly.

“What happened? You mean me moving in? If it’s causing a problem, I—”

“Saul?”

The familiar voice from Saul’s bedroom should surprise Bill, but it doesn’t. Saul looks relieved that he hasn’t had to confess his sins.

They’ve never judged each other before for their decisions or their mistakes.

This time is different.

 _You’re letting her get to you._

\- end -  
  



End file.
